


Unforeseen

by Karri



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karri/pseuds/Karri
Summary: While on an unexpected adventure, Legolas gets a history lesson.





	Unforeseen

oOoOoOoOo

_The inspiration for this story:_

"All living things were divided that day, and some of every kind, even of beasts and birds, were found in either host, save the Elves only. They alone were undivided…"

_The Silmarillion,_ Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age, pg. 294

oOoOoOoOo

"Legolas! Come down!" shouted a voice from below, provoking a mournful sigh from the young elf peering out over the treetops. "Father wishes to be home before nightfall!"

"Coming," Legolas shouted in reply. Yet he could not quite tear himself away from the glorious view of the world above the trees, and thus, a moment later, he added, "You need not wait! I shall join you at the boat in a few minutes."

"Legolas…" the voice began, dubiously, but he quickly cut it off.

"You have my word, cousin, I shall not leave you waiting long." Legolas could practically hear his cousin frown and feel his reluctance, and so quickly added, in his most plaintive tone, "Please, cousin, I wish for only a few more minutes. I shall not be far behind you."

"All right, I shall inform father," came a resigned sigh from below, followed by the sound of shuffling feet, and Legolas was just about to turn his full attention back to the view when he heard, "But do not keep us waiting long. If I have to come back to fetch you…"

His cousin left the sentence hanging, but Legolas understood the implied threat: if he delayed so long that he must fetched, he could expect to be dragged from the tree by the points of his ears. He chuckled lightly. It was an old threat, rarely issued by any other than his cousin, and not one that had ever actually been carried out. Elven children were well-behaved by nature; Legolas was no exception. He simply tended to move at a different pace than his cousin, and now that he'd come of age, he was just wilful enough to insist more often that his cousin not rush him along faster than his wished to go – especially today.

This was his first visit to the Emyn Duir. The Wood-elves had, for the most part, retreated to the north-eastern corner of the forest – near enough to his father's fortress to seek its protection when needed; only a few still wandered, as was once the way of Wood-elves, before the Shadow engulfed the southern forest and began its slow march northward. Rumors claimed some of those wanderers had taken up residence in the mountains. His sister's husband had volunteered to investigate (in the hope of bringing them northward,) and had invited Legolas to come along. The unexpected adventure both surprised and delighted him; Legolas intended to drag it out as long as possible.

He pulled in a long, slow breath as he heard his cousin's footsteps retreat at last. Closing his eyes, he revelled in the feel of the gentle breeze tickling his cheeks, and then opened his eyes again and grinned merrily as he soaked in the view from the mountains one more time before ducking back down beneath the canopy. Legolas hummed lightly as he swiftly descended.

His song faltered as he neared the bottom, but he quickly resumed humming; he did not wish the eyes watching him to realize they had been noticed. They were not spider's eyes, of this he was certain. They were not the pale, bulbous eyes of those fell creatures; nor did he feel their evil shadow emanating from anywhere near enough to be of concern - but Legolas could not quite tell what else the eyes might belong to, veiled as they were behind the undergrowth. Whatever they were, the trees seemed not alarmed by them.

_They cannot be orc eyes, then,_ he concluded, for the trees would have warned him of that.  _Elvish? Nay,_ Legolas decided,  _for even if they did not wish to remove further northward, they would not keep themselves hidden from me._ His brow furrowed.  _A Man? Rarely do they stray so far from the road, but it is possible, I suppose. Lost, perhaps, yet too wary of elves to ask for aid?_

Pausing in a crooked branch, near enough to the ground to leap down, yet still high enough for him to climb swiftly out of reach, Legolas reclined casually against the trunk. He pulled a small knife from his belt and retrieved a piece of wood that he'd tucked inside his tunic earlier in the day. It was an excellent piece for carving; he hated to waste it whittling aimlessly, but Legolas began to do just that, all that same, and waited for the eyes to make the next move.

They did not keep him waiting long, for as his humming shifted into light singing, the eyes crept nearer and nearer, until they were near enough for him to make out a man-like –  _nay, a child-like -_ shape hidden behind the brush.  _A lost Man-child? No wonder it is wary. But it will not last long on its own…_

Legolas returned his knife to his belt and tucked the wood back into his tunic. Having decided he must act, he leapt lightly to the ground. The eyes flinched back, deeper into cover. They did not vanish, however, and Legolas smiled warmly. Kneeling, he held out his hands to show that they were empty, hoping the child would comprehend that he intended no harm.

"Good day to you, child," he greeted, his smile growing as the eyes inched closer. "I am Legolas - Greenleaf, in your tongue," he continued, bowing respectfully, "and I would very much like to make your acquaintance, if you would permit it."

Legolas nearly held his breath as the eyes twitched closer; he knew it would not take much to send the child scurrying away. To his delight, though, the eyes shifted nearer, the brush rustling as the small body began to push its way through toward Legolas…and then it froze! The eyes grew wide, and Legolas silently cursed.

He'd been so focused on the child, he had not heard the steps before the child reacted. Now, though, he recognized them at once, and flinched, with the child, as an irate voice shouted, "Legolas!"

Bounding forward, Legolas  _nearly_  caught the child's whirling cloak as it stepped back, wheeled around, and fled. The child wove through the dense firs quickly as though intimately familiar with every root and stone that might trip it up. Lacking that advantage, Legolas could not keep up, despite his longer legs, and soon lost sight of his prey.

_There is little value in running blindly,_ he reminded himself and refocused his attention on the trees.  _Where?_ he asked the surrounding firs. When they remained stubbornly silent, Legolas added,  _Please, I only wish to help the child._

For a moment, he feared the trees would not answer, but then an anxious shudder ran through the branches, and the trees began to shout all at once. Overwhelmed by the cacophony, Legolas wavered, but then a scream of fear sent him running again.

"Child!" he shouted. "It is Greenleaf! Where are you?"

Another scream answered him, just as he rounded a particularly gnarled, old fir and saw the child struggling to free itself from long, sticky strands of spider thread. Legolas quickly scanned the surrounding trees for an accompanying spider as he covered the remaining distance and knelt beside the child. He saw none, but knew it would not be long before it appeared, so he set to the web with as much haste as possible.  _Not fast enough,_ his mind screamed, as the child froze. Its face remained hidden in the shadows of its hooded cloak, yet still Legolas could see its eyes, wide and filled with fear as they stared past his shoulder.

Drawing his long knife as he spun, Legolas slashed blindly, his gaze landing on the spider only after its long fangs had sunk deeply into his forearm. His blade had struck true, as well, though, and the big, black body collapsed down, his arm still caught in its foul mouth. That was soon the least of Legolas's worries, however, as the ground beneath him shuddered under the combined weight of dead spider, limp elf and flailing child, and then all three were falling.

Legolas's mind just had time to register a childish yelp before his head thudded against earth once more, and the world around him blurred, before fading away into nothingness.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

He swam back to consciousness piecemeal. First, there was the murmur of voices whispering mercurial words he could almost catch, only to have them slip away as his mind drifted. Then there was the feeling of a hand on his forehead, the weight of a blanket as it was shifted atop him, a motherly pat upon his chest. He was content to just let it all flow around him, until the touch moved to his wounded forearm, sending a flare of pain shooting up his arm. Groaning, he tried to pull his arm away from the assault, but the prodding hands were stronger than he was at the moment. So, instead, he forced his eyes open to glare at the offender.

"There you are, child," said a smiling, maternal face. Legolas smiled weakly in reply, but his brow furrowed with bewilderment. The face responded to his expression with a soft pat and a whispered, "More or less."

Legolas barely registered the words, though, as his mind struggled to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. The face hovering beside him was no Man, nor was it an Elf. If he had to put a name to its race, he'd have said orc, and yet… There was warmth and kindness in the expression and a light in her eyes that spoke not of evil. Nor was she as repulsive as other orcs he'd seen, though he would not go so far as to call her pretty _. It is almost as though she is somewhere between an orc and an elf, but that cannot be. Can it?_ He wondered, before a flash a movement in his periphery distracted him.

"Ssh," soothed the maternal face, as he flinched away from the movement. "It is only my Little Squirrel. I believe you two have already met…"

The abrupt recognition that she'd spoken the words in Elvish distracted Legolas, and he nodded reflexively. But as he gazed toward the child and met familiar eyes, he realized that they had indeed met already. The child smiled at him, and he smiled back. It occurred to him a moment later to wonder if she were alright, but when he attempted to ask, it came out as a croak.

"Fetch him some water, would you, Little Squirrel," the mother asked, and the child bounded up and away and back again almost before he registered the movement. Eagerly, she held the cup to his lips as her mother gently lifted his head. Legolas swallowed the water eagerly and frowned when it was pulled away too soon for his liking.

"You will make yourself ill if you drink too much, child," the mother explained, smiling patiently as he glared up at her. "There is still much spider venom in your blood; it does not always mix well with drink, especially in the absence of food."

Legolas blanched at the thought of food, earning a soft told-ya-so sort of chuckle from the mother. He had to swallow harder, still, as she rested his head back on his pillow, and the world wavered around him. Slamming his eyes closed, he focused on breathing until his stomach – and the world – settled.

"I apologize for that," came a deep masculine voice from somewhere, and Legolas eased his eyes back open to look for the speaker. He flinched, again, as a man suddenly loomed up behind the mother and smiled down at him apologetically. "I fear the state of your head has as much to do with the fall as the spider venom, and had our Little Squirrel not disobeyed and wandered out on her own, attracting the attention of both you and a spider, you would not have fallen through our backdoor." He waved a hand to indicate the place they were in and continued, "These new tunnels have not the strength of our old ones. I fear we had not the time to make a proper job of it." He sighed sadly, before adding under his breath, "or the numbers…"

Legolas frowned sympathetically. He had heard his father lament in much the same way regarding his fortress under the hill – he had neither the time, nor the skilled craftsmen, nor the available labor to build a proper palace, he would say with a sigh. Legolas, though, having little to compare it to, believed the fortress as grand a palace as any he could imagine.  _Certainly, compared to this humble hole, father has nothing to lament…_ he decided, as he took his first proper look at the rough- hewn cavern.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "What happened to your old ones?"

The man shrugged and just sighed again – a sound that seemed to echo around the cavern from one person to the next, and Legolas realized, with the abruptness that seemed to afflict him of late, that there were a number of people present. Some sat openly observing; some tended the cooking; some polished tools; and there were children staring out from various hiding places.

Legolas returned his gaze to the man –  _the father?_  - but before either could speak again, a loud clamor echoed through the cavern, and he bolted upright, and nearly out of his skin, as a more faces darted inside. The sudden movement sent the world spinning again.

"Tsk," came the mother's voice. "There is no need for that sort of thing, child. Be at ease."

Legolas smiled apologetically as the world righted itself once more.

"Indeed," confirmed the father. "No more harm shall befall you here if we can prevent it, so you need not fear, son of Thranduil."

Legolas frowned at that.  _How can these odd people know who I am?_ He wondered, not at all sure he liked that they knew.

The father merely laughed at his expression, and, as though reading his mind, responded, "Word spread far back in the days when elves roamed freely in these parts, especially when the word was of something as important as the gift of a son for the Elvenking, Legolas Greenleaf." Legolas's frown deepened. "Nay, none of that, now," the father scolded in reply. "You have nothing to fear from us. Indeed, returning you to your people will repay but a very small portion of the great debt we owe to your father. For were it not for him, my ancestors would have been torn apart and none of us would be alive."

Legolas cocked his head curiously, but before he could speak a question, a tense young man sidled up to the father. "More spiders have found the hole, uncle, and they are none too pleased at the death of one of their kind," he warned in hushed tones.

The father nodded, and turned from the bed, but before he could leave, Legolas cleared his throat again. As the father turned back, Legolas asked, "You will fight?"

The father replied with a short, quick nod, before adding, "This may not be much of a home, and there are not many of us left to live in it, but we shall defend it all the same. For it is all we have…"

Legolas swallowed hard at that and, mind made up, eased himself up (albeit with the aid of the mother.) "I shall fight with you," he declared. The father responded with a dubiously raised eyebrow, but Legolas waved it away. "I do not doubt that I am as responsible as your Little Squirrel for the spiders finding your backdoor. I can right that wrong in no other way than by fighting beside you."

"And when you fall down and someone is killed because of you, how will you right that wrong, elfling?" came a familiar voice that brought a wide smile to Legolas's face, despite the chastisement. To his surprise, it seemed the voice was equally familiar to the odd people of the cavern – or to the father, at least, for he too grinned at the newcomer and quickly strode over to welcome him.

"My lord Baelorn, it is good to see you again," he greeted, placing hand to heart.

It was returned by the Elf, who replied, "It is good to see you, as well, old friend. I feared the worst when I found your old caverns empty, but we can speak of that later. Now, I believe, we have a backdoor to defend."

The father nodded in reply and, pulling a long knife, turned toward one of the many openings in the cavern walls. "This way," he indicated, before disappearing into inky blackness.

"You stay," commanded Baelorn, pointing to Legolas. "Son, make sure your cousin does not follow," he added over his shoulder before following the father, along with several other men of the cavern. Legolas watched them go until the last one had fully disappeared into the dark tunnel, but then a gentle touch to his arm turned his attention.

"Sit, child," insisted the mother, guiding him to a chair by the father. "His lordship is right; you will fall over soon, I fear."

Legolas glowered at that. "I shall not!" he responded, but allowed himself to be pushed down into the chair, all the same. "I did not delay on purpose, cousin, so cease scowling at me," he added, once he was settled.

Hovering midway between the tunnel entrance and the hearth, his cousin did not cease scowling, nor did he speak. Legolas sighed to himself.  _He is very angry… I wonder if it is because I delayed the journey home or because I caused him to be left behind with the women and children,_ he mused, but as thinking made his head ache, he soon gave it up and shrugged.  _Well, no matter. Either way, he will get over it soon enough..._

Indeed, it was not long before his cousin ceased scowling at Legolas and focused his attention solely on the tunnel's entrance. Legolas did not notice, though as Little Squirrel had plopped down near his feet and now gazed up at him, a combination of awe and wariness in her wide eyes.

"Hello again, child," Legolas greeted, smiling warmly. "I am very pleased to see that you are well."

Little Squirrel returned the smile, a shy blush creeping over her cheeks. They sat then in awkward silence – Legolas watching the child; the child watching Legolas – until, at last, Little Squirrel spoke. "You do not seem evil."

"Thank you," Legolas replied, laughing. "Did you expect otherwise?"

The child blushed again and admitted, in a fast flurry of words, "When I was little, my cousin liked to scare me stories of elves, especially just before bedtime, and most of the stories were about the evil elves with bright eyes that crept into dens and stole babes from their bed to stew up for dinner."

Legolas raised an eyebrow, both at the notion of elves stealing babes and stewing them up, and at the assertion that Little Squirrel was no longer little, but he said nothing.

"Other times," she continued, growing ever more animated, "he said they hid in mist or shadow and lured children deep in the forest, where they were pinched and bruised and taunted until they were mad, then left to starve and die."

"Nonsense, child," scolded the mother. "And you well know it, as does your cousin." Little Squirrel nodded abashedly. "Away with you now," continued the mother, "and leave our guest be."

Legolas smiled reassuringly at the child as gave him one last wide-eyed glance before running off. Legolas then shifted his attention to the mother and asked, "What is this great debt?"

"Hmmm," responded the mother, distractedly, as she stirred something in a large pot.

"He spoke of a great debt owed to my father," Legolas clarified, with a curious tilt of his head.

"Oh, that," answered the mother, but then fell silent, and Legolas began to wonder if she would say more. Just when he had decided that she would tell him naught of it, she stopped her stirring, wiped her hands, and sat down opposite him. "Well, where to begin…" She paused, seeming to lose herself in thought for a moment, but then refocused on him. "You have wondered regarding our race," she began, provoking a soft noise of objection from Legolas, but she cut him off before he could voice it in words. "Nay, do not deny it; I saw the question in your eyes the moment they opened, though you are too polite to ask." She smiled at Legolas as he ducked his head, chagrined. "There is no need for that now," she chided. "I took no offense, for why would not you wonder. You would not have seen my kind before, nor, I do not doubt, have heard our tale, for it began nearly a millennia before you were born.

"You have heard of the great battle at the end of the last age – the Last Alliance, I believe it is often called?" Legolas nodded in response, and so she continued, "Our ancestors then looked more the part of orcs than my people do now."

Legolas's head jerked up at this. He had fully convinced himself that, though he could not say what they  _were,_ they were  _not_ orcs.

The mother laughed at his disbelief. "It is true," she insisted. "We are of orc-kind, or at least that is our origin; I think, perhaps, we have become a race unto ourselves after so many generations apart…but that is neither here, nor there, and does not answer your question. So we will not trouble about that now."

She winked at him, earning a smile. "I shall continue then?" she asked. Legolas nodded in reply.

"Nearly every race was divided in the great battle, with some of each fighting on either side, save the elves, of course." Legolas nodded; he had heard the tales. The mother smiled and then continued, "It was true as much for the orcs as for the rest."

Legolas's brow furrowed. "I do not..." he began to ask, but the mother finished the question for him.

"You do not understand?" Legolas nodded in confirmation, and so she clarified, "The orcs, too, were divided, though perhaps less so than the other races, still… Our ancestors chose to stand with the Elves."

She laughed as Legolas's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. "Indeed," she assured him, "they stood very near your own grandfather in the battle." The mother sobered then, thinking perhaps of the heavy toll paid there. "The tale of his fall has passed down in song throughout the generations," she explained, after a few deep, steadying breaths. "Many of our people fell with him, but a few survived, as did a portion of your own."

Legolas nodded. Only a third of the Wood-elves that had joined the fight returned home again, but he suspected it was still more than had survived of her people. "And my father's part in this tale?"

"Patience, child," replied the mother, with a laugh. "After the battle was won, though my people had fought on the winning side, there was little hope for us."

"What do you mean?" Legolas inquired. "The enemy had been defeated; the world was free and full of hope once more…"

The mother merely smiled patiently, before responding, "Indeed, it was free and full of hope for Men and Elves and Dwarves, but for us… My people had fought alongside the Elves, but that did not mean Elves or Men or Dwarves were eager to call us friends and welcome us to their lands – we were still orcs, after all. Nor were we welcome in orc lands; we had chosen the wrong side, were traitors to all orc kind. They would have torn my ancestors apart had they found them, and believe me, they hunted long in the hope of doing just that."

Legolas grimaced. It was hard to fathom the situation fully, but even in part, it was a fate dreadful to imagine.

"My ancestors had all but resigned themselves to a nasty end when your father appeared. Grieving though he was for his own losses, he had not forgotten the stand my people had taken and had guessed our plight. Thus it was that we were granted these mountains in which to dwell, within the confines of his own lands and under his protection. And that, child - our home, our very existence - is the great debt that we owe to your father."

Legolas puffed up a little with pride, but then sunk back down as his mind latched on to a thought. "But why, then, has he abandoned you now? Why not bring you north with the rest of our people?"

The mother smiled, "the rest of your people? You count us among them?"

Legolas gaped at the question, but then pondered a moment and answered, "Well, yes, mistress. My father granted you a home within his own lands and under his protection; does that not make you part of our people, whatever your ancestry might be?"

The mother nodded, her eyes moistening with unshed tears. "Indeed, child. Thank you," she acknowledged, with a slight, appreciative bow.

"But as to my question…?" Legolas pressed.

"I can answer that one, if I may?" It was the father's voice, and Legolas realized, to his chagrin, that he'd become so caught up in the tale of old battles, he'd forgotten the present one.

"Sir," Legolas acknowledged, respectfully, as he studied the returned men.  _T_ _hey are short of a couple, at least,_  he realized, anxiously.

Once again, the father seemed to read his thoughts and explained, "The spiders were dealt with easily enough; one to one, they are a danger, but there were many more of us than of them this time… My brother and nephews have stayed behind to block up the hole as that door is now too exposed to be of use."

Legolas nodded, relieved, and yet a twinge a guilt fluttered through him. "It is a little matter," the father assured, reading his expression. "It was not oft used in any case."

"Still, it has been exposed, and thus has your home been exposed," Legolas replied, mournfully. "More and more will come, and sooner or later, they will find their way inside, I fear."

The father nodded, but deflected the concern by echoing, "But as to your question…" he began, with a wink. Legolas bowed, accepting that the previous topic was closed –  _for the moment_ , he thought, determinedly, as the father continued, "His lordship," he tilted his head to indicate Baelorn, "indeed came to my father when I was but a small child and offered to take us northward. A place would be granted us inside the great fortress, he told my father then, but father would not go. We will be trapped, he said, unable to come and go as we please, slaves to the whims of the Elvenking."

Legolas frowned at that.

"Do not take offense, son of Thranduil," soothed the father. "Many generations have passed for us since we made our home here. As the Shadow moved northward and the mountains grew ever more dangerous, our people grew ever more wary. Many forgot our history in their wariness…"

Legolas nodded.  _History is too oft forgotten…_  he mused.

"But you have not?" asked Baelorn, turning the father's attention, as well as Legolas's.

"Nay, my lord," replied the father. "I well know to whom we owe our existence."

"Then you would be willing to place your trust in the Elvenking?" Baelorn queried.

The father hesitated, and Legolas could see his thoughts churning in his eyes as the father pondered the direction Baelorn was headed with the queries. Finally, the father answered, "Indeed, my lord. I am my father's son, and thus too stubborn and too proud to beg for aid, but if it were offered, I would not refuse it. For the sake of what is left of my people, I can admit, unlike my father, that we can stand alone here no longer."

Baelorn grinned at this, "Be that the case, we have plans to make and much to do…"

oOoOoOoOo

And so it was that when Legolas arrived home from his unexpected adventure, there was a Little Squirrel upon his shoulders. Indeed, it was a sight oft seen in the days that followed, while a place was delved into the hill for her and her family – a place they could call their own, outside the king's fortress, yet under his protection, as had been promised them upon a battlefield so very long ago.


End file.
